


Awakening

by Jezebot



Category: Transformers Animated (2007), Transformers: Beast Wars
Genre: Gen, Implied Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-18 23:56:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2366690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jezebot/pseuds/Jezebot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following a story (which I will eventually port over here) where Starscream was resurrected then seemingly sacrificed himself to save Cybertron from the Quintessons, the gypsy-like Maximals on the outskirts of Cybertron have found Starscream's near-dead body and are attempting to rehabilitate and redeem him.</p><p>This wasn't originally intended as a one-shot but ended up being that way. My Starscream muse is easily distracted and a regular pain in the ass. Regardless, I hope this ficlet is interesting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Awakening

Clink. Clink. Ting-ting-clink.

Over and over.

Clink. Clink. Ting-ting-clink.

Erratic but constant. Tempo varying on occasion…

Clink-Clink-t-ting-clink.

…but always balancing out.

Clink…Clink…Ting. Ting…Clink.

Maddening as a leaky faucet without a sense of steady rhythm.

Clink. Clink. Ting-ting-clink.

A soundtrack of insanity when one can only run the simplest of processes, none of which included necessities to function in a conscious world.

Clink. Clink. Ting-ting-clink.

Starscream could not take it anymore.

If it meant waking up in a reality that was, indeed, a sadistically cryptic layer of the Pit, then he was ready for it. Ready to confess any sin and discount any past noble deed on the one condition that he could finally be liberated from the infiltrating hallucinations; the endless images concocted by his processor. Desperately seeking, through all his knowledge—experienced and implanted—on what the glitching frag could possibly be making the incessant clink, clink, ting-ting clink.

Finally, as miraculous as the universe's creation as told by a peculiar cult of imaginative humans, his optic sensors slowly booted up to a flickering amber haze.

Another sunrise? No, the atmosphere is too humid to be the desert. The space is cramped, constricting and beyond uncomfortable for a flier: not open with infinite horizons like the desert. He almost feared what would come into his visual field as his optics restored functionality. Afraid to learn of that his waking dreams might just be more tolerable than a claustrophobia-inducing prison.

The visuals of his surroundings crisped by the nano-klik, whether he wanted them to or not, the first images being an array of…junk, all suspended above him by fraying rope. Trinkets, bottles, artisan pieces of the Cybertronian and alien make, some caked with grime, others glistening with a sparkle like a freshly-polished insignia, all dancing above him to their own intermingling tune of clink, clink, ting-ting, clink.

His other senses began coming online. His olfactory receptors registering what he knew for certain to be of the organic variety. Chlorophyll perhaps? There was no way he would even know what such a substance smelled like if it weren't for his human counterpart.

Where in the universe was he and why were his surroundings swaying? At least he hoped they were swaying, otherwise his equilibrium was seriously malfunctioning. But it couldn't be him because then what was causing the dangling clutter to perform their repetitive torture. The back and forth rocking was steady but wasn't stationary. He was moving through space, not just side to side on a straight path as well, backwards from how he was facing. The motion would have made him nauseous if he could feel anything below the neck.

Suddenly, as if some higher power heard his pleas for a change of soundtrack, a humming slid into his audio; the softest, most pleasant vocals he had ever heard. He managed the slightest of head tilts in attempt to locate the source of the medicinal melody, trying to keep his straining raspy groans at a minimum so as not to interrupt it. His optics needed a moment to focus through the shift of perspective, but when they did, he found himself robbed for reasoning at what stood…no, almost hovered at the other end of the room.

It was definitely the source of the song, but what was it? Beautiful went without saying but in what way? The feminine curves, the lush foliage or the enchanting vocals?

"Who," he finally pushed out, his voice coarse and weak, "are you?"

The humming ceased and the creature turned slowly, revealing the captivating features of her face. Her large sapphire optics were graced by thick lashes, her cheeks smooth and contoured and her lips were petite but perfect: soft, symmetrical and seemingly incapable of movement. The thick rows of lashes brushed slowly in relaxed blinks but her expression was unreadable.

They stared at each other for a long moment in a showdown of curiosity. She tilted her head, finally showing signs of a smile as she studied him like a gallery sculpture.

"Where am I?" he dared, his patience starting to wear thin, despite calm radiating off the captivating being. She had a strong presence, and infectious tranquility, but Starscream had too many questions to stay locked under her spell. He needed answers, explanations…but most importantly, he needed his mobility.

He attempted to sit up but was unable to budge himself beyond a slight lift of his wings from the crude berth below him. His voice quickly found its classic, shrill volume with his next interrogative outbursts, questioning once again where was and whose company he was in. The femme continued to study him with head tilts and brief little hums, completely unaffected his by demanding pleads for answers.

The flustered jet made another, more determined attempt to sit up but a sharp pain shot through his wing. He yelped pitifully then laid back down in defeat, beholding his throbbing wing and wincing at the sight of the warped metal and disfigured Decepticon symbol. He hadn't been able to feel his injuries just a few cycles ago, but he wasn't sure now that processor-numbing pain was an improvement from paralysis.

His attention shifted nervously as the creature swayed up to him, crossing two of her four bark-trimmed arms and shaking her head. Each rustling leaf seemed to project the disapproval she was communicating.

"He thinks because he can speak that he can move mountains?" Her voice was like honey, sweet and dense. An audible aphrodisiac. Starscream couldn't stay hostile around her even if, for some unforeseeable reason, she were to suddenly equip a giant black fusion cannon and point it directly at his spark chamber.

She took a seat next to him at the edge of the berth, resting her long digits of one hand on his arm and reaching two more hands of a similar make to the trinkets clanking over their heads. She retrieved a small, velvety satchel then slipped her tendrils into its drawstring opening.

The immobile flier couldn't decide whether to be anxious or curious. He was in a strange place with a strange being, waking up after…how long? Completely ignorant to whether or not he was even on Cybertron, let alone in a familiar plane of existence, but somehow he couldn't muster more tension than a slight bristling across his ailerons. How could this creature possibly mean him harm? Everything she did, her sounds, movements, gestures were all done in comforting elegance. She appealed to everything his human influence admired: beauty in nature, kindness of spark, and especially unexplained specimens. Such things would never have seduced the unbreakable Starscream before, but he learned over the course of an alien invasion on Cybertron to embrace any instincts, implanted or not, that aided in his survival.

He watched her remove a sparkling object from the satchel, her lips angling into a reassuring smile as she held it out for his viewing. She reminded him of Blackarachnia, but a future model: older, wiser and contented. Perhaps that was a reason he didn't fear the her. He trusted Blackarachnia, which was odd since Starscream made it a personal creed not to trust anyone.

"The crystals will aid him," she spoke again, her voice like a barbiturate. "Pull from his spark what is a vital component of his health." She gently laid the crystal on his wing then produced four more of varying sizes and cuts then placed them with purpose, creating a pentagon around the wound.

"What do you know of my spark?" he pondered, slightly miffed by her odd references to him. He dared a glance to his wing but quickly refocused back onto the arborous healer. "And what are those? Energon crystals?"

"Our planet's very lifeblood." She hovered her gracefully gnarled hand over his wing then closed her optics.

"Our?" he argued, petulantly. "You mean mine!"

"Our planet," she was once again unaffected by his attitude, "will draw from the love sheltered in his spark and channel it through its crystallized being." She exhaled with hum then swept her optics opened again. "Through love, he will be healed."

"What in the All Spark are you rambling about?" He was feeling his impatience gaining ground on his tranquility. "Who are you? How dare you presume to know my spark."

She traced the jagged edges of his shattered cockpit, her head tilting again.

"So much that vexes him." She reached overhead again and retrieved a small piece of pottery, removing its cork with care then swiping two digits inside it to collect a sample of its contents. "Never before have I felt one so in need yet so ungrateful." She leaned over to apply the powdery, heavily pigmented substance to the center front of Starscream's helm. "Love is a gift."

"You're mad," he stated, his optics crossing in attempt to analyze her actions. Her fingers moved in a circular pattern then trailed down his feline nose, leaving an opaque auburn stroke in their wake. "A warrior has no need for love," he continued, almost convincingly. "It is a waste of valuable neural processes."

"I know his spark harbors love," she leaned back to study her artwork, dismissive of his last comments, "because I touched the very essence of it."

"You know your pronoun usage is completely wrong? My name is Starscr—wait a klik…you did what?!" He felt a ping of violation in spark. "What did you touch?!"

She continued drawing patterns on his face, despite his heated expression, smiling in satisfactions at the thick, rough-edged lines accenting the contours of his features.

"It wrapped around my tendrils like hungry vines, beckoning to me…drawing from two sources: one old, one new. One chaotic, one innocent. Different as the lives they lead yet neither lacking in sincerity."

"Did you…" Starscream's temper ramped up, "read my spark?" His optics blazed a malicious crimson. "Why would you do such a thing!?" He couldn't believe, didn't want to accept that even the gentlest of beings such as this healer could be just as underhanded as the vilest of enemies.

The healer looked over her patient with her most distinguishable of expressions yet. Starscream instantly recognized it as pity and that only further angered him. He hoisted himself to a seated position, mindless of the displaced crystals and sudden jabbing pain that spared no circuit in his body. He grasped at his shattered cockpit, shielding his partially exposed spark chamber with his good hand. His intakes were heavy and labored and he strained to focus all his will into the dire goal of standing and walking out of the room.

His efforts only landed him in the supportive cradle of four bark-laced arms which lifted him back upon the berth and eased him to a laying position once again. He battled an assault of anger and shame, staring hard into the dangling trinkets but seeing nothing other than his pathetic state and helplessness in altering it.

"He must not dwell on the viral darkness," she placed the softest, most innocent of kisses on his cheek then pulled back slowly to stare deep in his questioning optics. Starscream gasped at how her touch seemed to absorb a portion of his affliction, his mouth parting to question the phenomenon but his words unable to find purchase before her sanctifying vocals filled his audio receptors again. "Rather meditate on the fortune of love, and seek the energies that connect him to this planet and its inhabitants. For if he was capable of saving all that is her, including those who hold his spark, then surely he is capable of restoring himself."

"It's not right that you…" his voice began harsh but quickly faded as even speaking had become painful, "know all this about me. What gave you the right to read my spark without my consent?"

"Because you would have gone offline had we not," came a new voice, deep and gravelly.

Starscream jerked to see the source of it. He was nothing short of surprised when two figures stood in the doorway and bore the vivid markings of bots long forgotten.

"Who-," he cut himself off as his processor filled in the missing information. The newcomers were clearly part Cybertronian, techno-organics just like Blackarachnia and Waspinator; which meant only one thing. "You're…" he ventured, sitting up on his elbow and mindless of the pain it took to do so. "The fabled predacons."

"Tarantulus," The green and white mech with a feline flare gestured respectfully to the peculiar arachnid standing behind him, "is the only predacon here. Botanica and I were once Autobots, therefore we prefer to be called Maximals."

Botanica heeded her cue and transformed with graceful twists and twines into a smooth, semi-metallic form. Her body reminded Starscream of the long, fitted evening gowns the starlet humans liked to wear. Two of her four arms retreated into the seamless figure and a blossom grew around her neck, bordering a now two-toned and shimmering face. Her captivating optics remaining unchanged but their glow now reflected off the Cybertronian alloy surrounding them.

"I am Tigatron," spoke the apparent leader as he approached. "And I welcome you to the Axalon."


End file.
